


anchor

by to_the_stars_who_listen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Remus is also traumatized and you bet it shows, am I hyperfixating on them? yes<3, ft my very specific headcanons and characterizations of the marauders, im So Bad at summaries I’m sorry, im emotionally attached to wolfstar and it shows, no it’s not finished yes I need validation shut up, november told me to post this it’s faer fault, on god we gonna get these kids some therapy, remus is also Oblivious and Yearning, shenanigans ensue, sirius is Oblivious and Yearning, sirius is traumatized and you bet it’s gonna show, them<3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28076700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/to_the_stars_who_listen/pseuds/to_the_stars_who_listen
Summary: There is so very little peace to be found in the Gryffindor common room after a Quidditch game.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





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**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the product of my current hyperfixation ft. I need validation in order to have motivation and you all get to see the product of that. anyway let me know what you think in the comments I’m genuinely curious

Remus Lupin had never particularly enjoyed loud music, had never understood the appeal of the beat thudding through his body, battering his eardrums, rattling his bones. It always had an undercurrent of desperation, of trying to drown something out, to muffle all the senses until the only thing that existed was the music and the beat and the shaking, pounding rhythm. 

Besides, what most people considered loud was borderline painful for him. 

Which was why he tried to avoid the Gryffindor common room after Quidditch games. The aforementioned loud music, the spinning crush of bodies in the center that always had pieces breaking off but never seemed to diminish in size, the heat, the overwhelming recklessness — it was all too much, and compounded very nearly unbearable. 

But tonight — tonight was different. 

__ _ Remus watched the other boys prepare, which mostly involved tousling hair and knocking shoulders and loud banter. James' dark curls, always unmanageable, were even more wild than usual, and even Peter's usually timid grin was broad and bright. But it was Sirius that his eyes kept catching on; Sirius, grey eyes glittering like stars, cheeks still flushed with victory (Gryffindor over Slytherin, and a tough game too), lips parted around a fierce laugh. Remus glanced back down at his book before he could be caught staring, but his eyes kept drifting up of their own accord. He forced himself to keep them on the page, to stay focused on the words and the story they told.  _

__ _ He still knew when Sirius separated himself from the laughing tangle and moved towards him, glancing up a half second before he arrived at the foot of Remus’ bed, leaning against the post. “You'll come down, won't you?” A simple request, but those sharp grey eyes were burning with the intensity of it. “It'll be loads of fun.” _

__ _ Remus glanced down at his book again. “I was going to stay up here and read.” _

__ _ Sirius cocked a brow. “Studying, Moony?” _

__ _ “An activity you should probably acquaint yourself with,” Remus shot back, and then, after a beat, “But no. This is a novel.” _

__ _ Sirius didn't laugh, didn't even look surprised. "Come on, Remus, at least give it a go.” _

__ _ Remus sighed, daring to meet his eyes again, knowing the instant he did that it was a mistake. He couldn't bring himself to deny the plea he found there. “Okay. I'll go.” _

__ _ Sirius very rarely let his true emotions show, but Remus knew his tells, and he knew the way that his eyes were lighting up right now meant that Remus had said the right thing. “Brilliant.” _

Remembering that look, now, Remus decided that it was worth it — the noise, the jostling, the overwhelming abandon of it all. He stood at the wall, the very outer edge, scanning the group for his friends for not the first time and probably not the last. Someone had managed to sneak several bottles of muggle alcohol in, and the buzz in the room was rising to a fever pitch. 

There was James, in the center of the crowd, laughing and joking and dancing. The center of attention — his element. His movements, never particularly restrained, were louder and looser than usual. 

And Lily, spinning circles around him, sometimes no more than a flash of brilliant red hair in the firelight. She had told him, once, that music so loud it drowned everything else felt like living. Remus had stared at her in blank confusion, unable to comprehend how someone could truly enjoy feeling so out of control, but her love for it was shockingly clear in the way she moved

Peter was near the table, holding what didn't seem to be his first glass of amber liquid, eyes beginning to glaze. He was always the worst off after these nights, never seemed to know when to stop. Remus filed that away under  _ Problems for Future Remus _ . 

His eyes caught on Sirius, as they always seemed to sooner or later. His cheeks were flushed with heat and exuberance, thick dark curls tousled and beginning to stick to his forehead. Remus frowned. Sirius was smiling, but it wasn't the genuine, open grin of earlier, It was more practiced than that, and his eyes did not mirror it. Then the moving mass of bodies shifted, and Remus couldn't see his face anymore.

He took a long sip of cold water from the glass he had been keeping a tight hold on for the past ten minutes, watching condensation drip down the sides, head aching. Not that it did much to help. The music pounded, incessant, getting into his head and throbbing against his temples. Even here, as far from the center as he could get, it was still hot, the fire and the mass of people — he was fairly certain every house except Slytherin was fairly represented — making the already cozy common room stifling. Someone shrieked, and he winced, the additional sound sending a fresh stab of pain through his head. Remus was abruptly aware of  _ everything _ — the weight of his sweater across his shoulders, the press of someone's back against his arm, the seemingly infinite layers of sounds and textures and people, so many people — he gasped, unable to get enough air, unable to get any air at all. He shoved away from the wall, towards the exit, every ounce of willpower centered on getting  _ out _ . 

The painting closed behind him, cutting off the pounding noise and sealing him away, outside. Wandering the halls at night was forbidden, but the teachers had fallen into a pattern of letting him go unnoticed. They had reached an understanding without ever saying a word, an understanding that had resulted in many nights spent pacing the halls and an intimate knowledge of the hidden passages and chambers that Hogwarts seemed to have a limitless supply of.

Tonight, he needed air, and stillness, and starlight.

There was a room which few of the residents of Hogwarts knew of and fewer still used, high on the seventh floor, very nearly unused. Remus assumed it had been a music room at some point, given the various instruments stored there, but none of the current professors taught music. He had a hunch that very few students had an interest. He rounded a corner, took a flight of stairs, turned left again, and froze. 

Someone was already in the room — and they were a truly excellent piano player, by the sound of it. He paused in the shadow of the doorway, silent, letting his eyes adjust (it never took long). The music room was unique in that one of its walls was made entirely of glass, letting in the sky. The moon, thankfully, was not full tonight, only a crescent, but it was bright, almost bright enough to see by. Whoever was in here had not lit candles. Soft piano echoed through the room and down the hall, tracing melodies like wisps of mist before disappearing into the next set of chords. 

Even before Remus’ eyes adjusted, he recognized the figure on the bench, would have recognized it anywhere. Head bent in concentration, hair falling over his face in thick black waves, fingers flying over the keys. Sirius hadn't noticed him — wouldn’t, Remus knew, too caught up in the music to give attention to anything else. Remus stayed by the door, watching, listening, hesitant to cross a boundary, reluctant to leave. 

The music played on.


End file.
